What She Wouldn't Give
by Wanderlusting
Summary: Stephanie would give anything to have him back...[Finished]
1. What She Wouldn't Give

**Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, they belong to WWE and Vince McMahon, I'm just playing around with them for a while.

* * *

**

A/N: This'll only be a two or three parter, just letting you guys know. I'd really appreciate any and all reviews. Thanks a bunch.

* * *

What she wouldn't give to see him again.

She might give her right arm. It was useless to her without him anyways. She felt useless without him, like she was incapable of feeling, of emoting, of living. She just needed to feel him, to see him even, but she couldn't, she didn't, she hadn't…

She just wanted to see him, was that too much to ask? She would even do it from afar if that was the only option available to her. She didn't want to sound like a stalker, but she would be willing to watch him, even if it was through a window, through a wall, through a barrier that was sound-proof so she couldn't call out his name desperately.

Chris.

The word just fell from her tongue like sap from a tree, slow and deliberate. She sometimes woke up with the name rolling softly off her tongue and she would freeze, hoping that nobody could hear her desperate pleas. She saw him in her dreams occasionally. He didn't haunt her dreams and she was sad over that fact. She wanted him to haunter her dreams. She wanted to see his face every night that she fell asleep, but it wasn't to be, it just wasn't to be. But sometimes, if she was lucky and her mind was in the right place, she dreamt of him.

Did he think of her? She wondered sometimes and she was tempted to ask Shane if he mentioned her, just a little, just to ask how she was. But she was a chicken. She was a chicken and didn't want to ask. She didn't want to know if he hadn't, and if he had, maybe it would hurt her so much that her heart would burst in her chest.

Jericho.

A name she wanted and yet couldn't have. A name that fit her somehow and yet eluded her to the point of distraction. It was like the carrot being dangled in front of the horse, just out of reach, but never out of sight. She had been close once, or so she had thought. Perhaps she had never been as close as she thought, and she had daydreamed it, had imagined that she could have her way just this once. For a person who was used to having her way, nothing seemed to go her way after she hadn't grabbed his name and held onto it as firmly as he used to hold onto her.

Destiny.

A word that mocked her, because if this was her destiny, then the world needed to die. The Earth needed to be swallowed up by the burning embers of the sun. Everything needed to just fade into an oblivion for the ages. If her destiny was to live like this, in this state of continuous limbo, then everything should just cease to be. If her destiny was to never see him again, then she didn't want to live her life. She didn't feel the need to live out her days if her destiny didn't bring him to her.

So she sat and she waited and she needed, but she never got. She would sit at her desk, a wheel squeaking constantly, and she would wait. Every time the door opened, she would wonder, but she didn't dare hope. Hope was for the people who still believed and she wasn't sure that she believed anymore. She wasn't sure that she should ever believe in anything again because the one thing she wanted to believe in was never going to come true. The one thing she _needed _to believe in, it was just never going to happen and the sooner that she accepted that, the sooner that she could just stop believing altogether.

Fading away.

She felt it, that's how she felt. She felt like she was fading away into nothingness. If a mist could just come and claim her, she would float away willingly. It was weird to feel this way. Was she once so vibrant that no neon color could even stand out against her tan skin? Were her eyes ever so blue that they made the ocean a colorless mass of black? She didn't feel it anymore. When she looked into the mirror, she saw a disaster, flat, limp hair, sallow cheeks, pale skin and eyes so frighteningly dead she sometimes believed herself to be a corpse.

So why couldn't anyone else see it?

Why didn't anybody call her out, call her for what she was, a shell of a person. Why didn't they yell, "Stephanie, what is wrong with you!"? Maybe her reflection was wrong. Maybe her reflection was just what she saw and not what anybody else. Maybe she knew the truth, but to the world, she was the same Stephanie McMahon, the same woman, the same head of creative, the same, the same, the same…

Except she wasn't the same.

So she kept waiting and sitting; she kept looking up when the door opened hoping that he would be the person on the other side, that he would peek his head in and smile at her in that way that he used to. She knew that it wasn't going to happen, but she still clung to that shred of hope that he would show up.

It was her fault.

She had sent him away, it was only her own fault that she was feeling this way, that she was feeling so empty. If she had just chosen better words, if she had found her voice in a more rational way, maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't have ended up this way. Maybe she wouldn't be an empty vessel sailing on a lonely and deserted stream. Now she was thinking up crazy metaphors, maybe that was part of her madness. In her madness came this sense of weird understanding.

She never should've told him to go.

Stephanie did not have many regrets in her life, but this was her hugest one, the one that hung over her head like a cloud hanging over her. It was the elephant in the room, and yet, she refused to let it go, to move on. She should just chalk up the regret to life and then start living again, but she had yet to figure out how to live with someone who was such an integral part of her soul.

They had fought.

She had told him to leave, had sent him away. She never expected him to take up the offer. She had thought that him grabbing her bags had been for show, she had thought, she had thought, she had thought…but none of that really mattered anymore because he had grabbed his bag for that last time and he had left, and he hadn't been back. He wasn't coming back she realized now. It had been months and months and he hadn't even so much as breathed in her direction. She just had to accept that he was truly out of her life.

What she wouldn't give to have Chris Jericho back in her life.


	2. What He Wouldn't Give

**A/N: So I was driving the other day and I heard this song on the radio and it was just exactly what I wanted for Chris in this story and so I think it's a fantastic song because of that. It's Michael Bublé's "Home." **

**Thanks lots for the reviews, I hope you like this chapter and continue to review.

* * *

**

**/Another summer day  
Has come and gone away  
In Paris and Rome  
But I wanna go home/**

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He couldn't tell you _how_ it was _supposed_ to be, but he knew that it wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to look out at a bright world and see no color whatsoever. The world wasn't supposed to take on this grey color that it had for him, but it was only his own fault that everything was this way. It was only his own fault for walking away from the woman that he loved.

He wanted to just leave here, he wanted to run back to her, but she didn't want him. She had ordered him to leave and so he had. He knew that he had to leave anyway, but then when she had told him to go away, when she had used the definitive tone of voice that he knew meant business, he knew she didn't want him anymore and so he had left. And here he was, in a world without color because…well…

She always put the color into his life.

**/Maybe surrounded by  
A million people I  
Still feel all alone/**

So he had gone on tour, he had surrounded himself with everything that he could think of that didn't involve wrestling. If he even thought about anything wrestling-related, he banished them from his mind and found the quickest fix he could find. Those quick fixes came with touring and with his radio show, and then subsequently a play and a television movie and any other thing that didn't remind him of the things that he had left behind. He kept himself so busy that he sometimes didn't even have time to think, but that was always better, it was always better when he didn't have time to let his mind settle on her silky, brunette hair, or her ever-changing blue-grey eyes, or her smooth, supple skin that he knew every curve to.

It was an amazing and yet lonely feeling when he thought about how he was surrounded by people at all times and yet without her there it was a lonely and isolating existence. He didn't like saying that she made his world go round, but sometimes it was just like he didn't really exist at all, that he was floating through this life. He shouldn't have left, he shouldn't have let her tell him to leave. He should've fought back.

He should've done a lot of things.

**  
/I just wanna go home  
Oh I miss you, you know/**

He hadn't been home in weeks because it reminded him of her. Her clothes were probably still hanging in his closet, if she hadn't come by and picked them up. As much as he didn't want to see her clothes hanging there, he knew that it feel a million times worse to come home and find her half of the closet empty. He remembered a song he heard once, Luther Vandross or something, someone that he didn't normally listen to, but it was a song about a house not being a home or something of that nature. He didn't remember the exact saying or the exact lyrics, but he felt that way about his own house. It was just a house now that it wasn't filled with her laughter and her smiles and just her.

God, sometimes, he would stare out on his balcony and just think about her, and what she was doing, and hopefully not a who she was doing. He didn't want to think about her with another man, but honestly he had left so what could he do if she were with another guy? She was the one to break up with him, she was the one that had sent him packing and nary a word was spoken between the two since.

And yet he couldn't find it in his heart to hate her.

**/And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you  
Each one a line or two  
"I'm fine baby, how are you?"/**

It had become kind of nasty habit for him. He wanted to so much to just talk to Stephanie, to just tell her all the things that he was feeling and experiencing being away from her, but he didn't know how. Whenever he sat down to think about what he would say to her, to pen his thoughts, put them to paper, nothing came out. It was like his brain froze and the words, the pretty, lyrical words that he thought most of the time when thinking of Stephanie failed him. It was like the connection between his brain and his fingers was somehow severed and he couldn't get the words out even if he wanted to.

So they ended up being completely lame and completely pointless, but he kept every single "letter" that he wrote to her. They were never actual letters, just phrases or words, sometimes even a sentence. She'd never see them, they'd never see the light of day, but he still kept every single one, a small pile that grew whenever he had a moment to think of something he would like to say to her. They were never fancy words, a simple, _Today I saw someone that looked like your dad…it was weird,_ or, _I don't think I can ever eat pizza again, I've had it too much._

It was the mundane things that they could talk about that he missed the most.

**  
/Well I would send them but I know that it's just not enough  
My words were cold and flat**

**And you deserve more than that/**

He knew it was probably silly to be writing these things down, but it gave him a kind of comfort. Hell, maybe the words reached her or something romantic like that. Or maybe he was just stupid and didn't want to send them to her when she would probably just throw them away anyways. He had left on bad terms with her, and she had sent him away, not wanting anything to do with him anymore. If that was the case, then sending stupid notes with stupid words would do nothing to rectify the situation. She probably deserved some sort of grand gesture that he couldn't think of at the moment, or any moment. He didn't know how to make it up to her, so he just…kept away from her.

He sat down at the desk in his hotel room and looked at the pile of notes sitting there, all in a pristine little pile, none sticking out or out of order, and he picked up the top one. He stared at it and knew that he could've elaborated, could've filled pages and pages with things to say about this one tiny subject, but he couldn't find the words and so it remained the same as all the others, but this one was a little more meaningful.

_I miss you._

**/Another aeroplane  
Another sunny place**

**I'm lucky I know  
But I wanna go home  
Mmmm, I've got to go home/**

Every place was starting to look like every other place, and they all appeared drab to him. He wasn't living and he was starting to realize that it was taking its toll on him. He looked in the mirror sometimes and the guy staring back at him wasn't the guy that had been staring back at him nearly a year ago. He couldn't quite place the eyes that stared back at him, or the nose or the mouth. Nothing of his seemed like its own anymore.

Maybe if he called Shane, just to see what she was up to. Maybe he could hear good things, like she was happy, because as long as she was happy, then he could be happy too, even if it was without her. If she was happy, then he'd be able to fall asleep knowing that she wasn't tossing and turning like he was, that she could actually go home and not fear what was on the other side.

**/Let me go home  
I'm just too far from where you are  
I wanna come home/**

But then he also feared calling Shane because he didn't want to hear that she was happy with another guy. Sure, Shane would lie because they were good friends, but Chris could always tell when Shane was lying, it was one of the benefits of being the guy's friend. It literally scared him that he was still in love with Stephanie after a year of being apart. It scared him that he saw no end to his misery.

It scared him even more to think she could move on when he couldn't.

**/And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life  
It's like I just stepped outside  
When everything was going right/**

What he wouldn't give just to see her again. Maybe he'd give his left arm to see her. He didn't need it, not really. He was right-handed, he was the singer in his bad, and if that one kid could wrestle without a leg, surely he could wrestle without an arm. He would give just about anything and everything to be able to go back in time and not fight with her. He couldn't even remember what it was over now, but it was probably something petty and stupid and something that should've blown over, but it didn't, and what he wouldn't give to just go back and do it over, do it all over. Maybe then they would still be together and he wouldn't be contemplating how best to separate his left arm from his body, if only it would mean that he would get her back.

**  
/And I know just why you could not  
Come along with me/**

He opened up another e-mail that had been screened for him, another question for his website. It went through his webmaster first and then to him if the question was good enough, and then he would decide which ones he would answer. It was fun to know what people wanted to ask of him, but today was not his day, not his day at all.

The first one read, "What do you really think of Stephanie McMahon?"

The second one (a few e-mails later) said, "What was your favorite scene to do with Stephanie McMahon? I loved when you made fun of her implants, that was comedic gold!"

The third one (there could've been more, but by this time, he had stopped reading), "Do you have any regrets, like ones you could share?"

**  
/This was not your dream  
But you always believed in me/**

"Stephanie McMahon is pretty awesome, she's always been one of my biggest supporters in everything I do."

"My favorite scene, I guess it would have to be our King of the Ring kiss. Nobody was expecting it and her face was hilarious, I don't know how I didn't start laughing."

"Yeah, I have one big regret, and I'll just give you this advice, don't let the person you love get away, just don't, it'll be the biggest regret you'll ever have."

**/Another winter day has come  
And gone away  
And even Paris and Rome  
And I wanna go home/**

After reading all those e-mails pertaining to Stephanie, he couldn't help but ruminate over her for the next several days. He missed her, that much he knew, but he missed being home. WWE was his home, he had even said it was like the mafia, that when you were in, you were in for life. He was in for life. He wanted to be in for life with Stephanie. He wanted to see her and he didn't want another day to go by without seeing her because it was starting to hurt. It was hurting every time someone brought her up unknowingly, it hurt to be around something she liked, and he was tired of being hurt.

He had to see her.

**/Let me go home  
I've had my run  
Baby, I'm done/**

He sat at his desk, looking at all those unsent notes. He was done with them, after today, they were going to be no more. He had to see her, consequences be damned. He loved her and he missed her and he needed her more than any words could say. Maybe someday he would give her the notes and she would laugh at them or cry over them, but he was done with them. He was done with living this half-life that wasn't really living. He picked up his pen and looked down at the paper in front of him, deciding he had one more thing he needed to write.

**/It will all right  
I'll be home tonight/**

He started to write the next letter he wouldn't send, then paused, closed his eyes and wrote something down. Satisfied with what he had written he laid it on top of the pile of unwritten notes and messages he had accumulated these long months. It sat there, looking back at him, as if mocking him, daring him. He almost couldn't look away, but then got up and grabbed his coat, leaving it there. So it sat there, untouched, the ink sinking deeper and deeper into the paper.

**  
/I'm coming back home/**

_Can I come home now?_


	3. What They Wouldn't Give

**A/N: Again, thanks for all the reviews, this is the last chapter of the story. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope to write more in the future.

* * *

**

Stephanie walked into her office and sighed. Another day, another dollar for her father. She walked to her desk absently, intending to get a little paperwork done before doing the usual, which was go to her empty hotel room, order some room service, eat all the bad food she could get her hands on, grab a drink from the mini-bar and fall into a dreary and dreamless sleep. Oh yes, she did lead the enchanted life.

She went behind her desk and was about to sit down when a piece of paper caught her eye. She picked it up. It was nothing more than a white note-card, but she knew that she had not put it there. If it was a note from someone, she was going to be mad. She didn't want to deal with anyone's problems right now. She turned it over and read the words scrawled on it in blue ink.

_The other side of the bed is cold and I really hate that._

She stood there, looking at the words, and she thought she recognized the handwriting, but she wasn't sure. It looked kind of like Chris's, but that was impossible, she shouldn't even consider that preposterous notion. Chris hated her. It was probably someone trying to play a joke on her and she wasn't in the mood for jokes. Not now, not ever. Not anymore.

"Stupid ass," she muttered to herself in regards to whoever sent her the note.

She gathered up her things, dropping the mysterious note into the trash on her way out. She didn't have time for silly things like that anymore. She only had time for work nowadays. What did it matter anymore anyways if she didn't have anything to get up for? She would just go to work and then do nothing else because what else did she have to do? She missed Chris, and that was all she could focus on. She'd give anything to have him back with her.

She walked out to her car and threw her stuff in the backseat. She'd leave it there until tomorrow morning. She'd just curl up into a ball upstairs and let the outside world go free while she balled up all her sadness within her own chest. It was better to just bottle it up, it made her ache a little less. She walked around to the front of the car and got in, but then saw another white card sitting on her windshield, jammed into the wiper. She got out and grabbed it.

_Hotels are getting to be really, really boring. I wish that I could just go back home._

Stephanie looked around again, feeling like someone was watching her. She stood there in the warm night air and scanned the area at least three times. She couldn't see anyone. There were a few scattered cars, but nobody around. She sighed and looked down at the note again. Why was someone toying with her? She ripped the note up and let the pieces flutter to the ground.

"If whoever is doing this is out there, stay the hell away from me, this isn't funny!" Stephanie yelled into the dead air. "It just isn't!"

She climbed into her car again and sat there, staring at the steering wheel. She leaned her forearms across the top and leaned her head on them. She sat there, silent sobs wracking her body. She didn't want to deal with this. She didn't want some anonymous idiot playing with her mind. She was fragile, she knew that, she knew that many things had changed. She wasn't strong, she was so weak. She had lost everything the moment Chris had walked out the door and she didn't think she would ever get it back. Did she even want it back?

She composed herself and stuck the key in the ignition, turning it and listening to the car rev itself to life. She pulled out of the spot quickly and drove the way back to the hotel. She didn't want to look at anyone right now. Her bed was calling her, her melancholy was calling her and when she closed the door behind her as she entered her room, she could drop the façade that she had so carefully built for herself. Because of this, she walked through the lobby quickly.

When she was up in her room, she closed the door and slid down the back of it. She pulled her knees up to her chin and clung to them with her arms. She started crying again, the notes she had been receiving shaking her to her very core. Whoever had been doing that was a cruel bastard. She wouldn't put it past some of the people backstage who had gotten the brunt of her anger when she was in a bad mood. They would probably love to give her a little comeuppance. But this, this was nothing. Chris had already broken her to the point where she was at the very pit of pain. She had hit rock bottom.

They say when someone hits rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up.

That person had never met Stephanie McMahon. The bottom to her sadness was an endless pit. One of those deep, deep wells where you don't think you'll ever see the bottom. When she thought she had reached the bottom, she stumbled and found there was just a little bit more to fall. So she sat there in a cold hotel room, leaning against the door, crying her eyes out. She had nobody, she felt abandoned, this was her life. This was what her life had become. It was pathetic and sad, and nothing like how she had pictured her life to be.

She hadn't been naïve enough to think that she would have the perfect life, the quintessential suburbia lifestyle with the 2.3 children, the dog, the white picket fence and the husband that was too perfect for words. She just wanted a real life. She wanted someone to love and someone to love her, and who treated her like an equal. She didn't know anything beyond that. She knew that man had been Chris, but she had been the idiot who had sent him away. And away he stayed.

So she stayed alone. Possibly forever.

She picked herself up off the dirty floor and wiped at her eyes, thanking herself for investing in a tube of water-proof mascara so she knew she didn't look like a raccoon. That didn't help the fact that she had irritated her eyes though and now her contacts were bothering her. She rubbed at her eyes a little, vision blurry, when she saw a patch of white on the ground. She leaned down and saw another damned note-card sitting there. She wondered if it had been there all along.

She took it into the bedroom, throwing it on the bed before heading into the bathroom to take her contacts off. She did that and washed her face, staring at herself in the mirror afterwards. It was always amazing looking at yourself in the mirror after you had just washed your face. It was like you were seeing your true self, washed free of the masks that you wore continually through the day. To her it was scary because without the makeup, she could see just how Chris's departure had affected her. She had aged too much in such a short time. She pulled her hair back and went into the bedroom. She was too tired to change so she just shed her clothing, leaving her in her underwear as she climbed under the covers, staring at the piece of paper. She picked it up tentatively and turned it over.

_If you missed me, would you tell me?_

She crumpled it up and threw it on the ground. "I hate the people I work with," she muttered to herself. Someone was trying to crack her, they were trying to drive her crazy and she wouldn't stand for it. Next week, she would have Daddy call a meeting and inform everyone that if the person who was doing this didn't stop they would be sought out and fired, or maybe arrested for stalking or something. This was absolutely ridiculous. Why would someone want to play such a horribly mean joke on her? She fell asleep with tears trailing down her face.

Just like every night.

The next day dawned too early for her, but she wanted to go home anyways. She wanted to get away from whoever the bastard was that was sending her these fucking notes. She would strangle them and hang them if she could. She was angry now, not just irate after she had read the last one last night. She had dreamt about Chris and that did nothing to curb her mood. She was just angrier and felt like she was going to burst into a giant ball of anger at any moment.

She gathered her things for her flight, skipping breakfast and just grabbing a quick cup of coffee to sustain her. She hopped her flight back home, glad for the distraction from her job. Of course, that meant the loneliness would certainly creep into her psyche while she was home. She would just have to live with it. She got her car out of long-term parking and drove home. Upon arrival, she parked her car and got out, going to the front door and finding it ajar.

Now, normal people would just turn and walk away, but Stephanie was either too dumb or she didn't care. Maybe she didn't care. Maybe if there was a burglar in there, they'd have a gun and she could be neatly taken care of. She didn't care anymore, she just didn't. Everything in her life was useless and stupid and she didn't care. Maybe she didn't even care if she died. Maybe she wanted to die. With that thought in mind, she stepped into the house.

And found that it was empty.

She dropped her purse in shock as she looked around. There was nothing, no furniture, no pictures, no nothing. She ran into her living room…nothing. She ran into the kitchen…nothing. She wandered from room to room. What the hell had happened? She had heard of people being robbed, but she had been completely cleaned out. There was nothing left. If someone had burgled her house, why would they take her pictures, her little decorations? She raced back into the living room and looked around, spinning around, and she felt like the room was spinning too. She felt like she was going to faint and she let out a strangled cry.

She dropped to her knees instead.

"Looks like you got cleaned out."

Her eyes opened wide and she looked over her shoulder. She thought she was dreaming for a moment. He was a vision. She stood up, glad that she hadn't cried because the last thing she needed was for him to see her cry. She just stood there, they were at least ten feet apart, but she would take it. She would take it and she would cling to it for as long as she could. She wanted to speak, but the lump in her throat was large and getting larger.

"I wonder what the hell happened here," he said, looking around, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Your site," she choked out.

"Oh, you read the Q&A?" he said, a little embarrassed as he chuckled to cover his nervousness. "Who knew that so many people would want to know about you and me, nosy bastards."

"What…"

"Am I doing here?" he finished for her. "Yeah, well, those questions, they kind of kicked me in the pants you know. I guess I should personally thank those people for asking about you. I'll have to remember that."

"Kick in the pants?"

"Well, yeah, to see you," he said. "It's been a long time Steph."

"Almost a year," she answered softly.

"Yeah, too long," Chris told her and he shifted his feet on the barren hardwood floor. "Look Steph…about what happened…"

"You left," Stephanie said. "I get it, I told you to leave and you left, nothing more than that."

She wanted him more than anything, but she wasn't going to make herself look stupid. She still had her pride left, even if it was telling her to run into this mans arms at full speed and never leave them again. Chris nodded his head and looked down at the ground. She stared at his bowed head.

"So you wanted me to go?" Chris asked.

"No…"

Chris's head snapped up. "Do you want me to go now?"

"No," she answered.

He nodded and looked around. "So while I was gone, I would write all these notes to you."

"You? It was you with the notes?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was. I never sent them, I was a little ashamed of them I guess, they were stupid or not funny or just plain silly, but it felt…it felt like I still had a connection to you somehow if I kept writing these notes."

"Oh," she said, smiling a little.

"I have one more for you," he told her, reaching into his pocket and taking out one last white note-card.

She walked over slowly, the sound of her shoes clicking loudly on the wood floor, the sound echoing through the empty rooms. She was so dazed by Chris's appearance that she had forgotten that her house was completely empty. She took the note-card from him and he immediately took a step backwards, as if he wanted to run away, but remained seated to the ground. She took the card and looked down.

_Can I come home now?_

"So can I?" he asked.

"Home? Your home is in Florida."

"Yeah, it is, but that's just a house."

"I don't get it."

He walked up to her and placed his hand on her cheek gently. "You're home to me."

"Huh?" she said, dumbfounded.

"Steph, do I have to spell it out for you? I need you, I'm not me without you. I haven't even been to my house in Florida since we…broke up," he choked out. "I couldn't even bear to go near the place, I've been living in hotels."

"Where's all my stuff?" she asked dazedly, Chris's words not sinking in.

"Well, I had it moved, it's now on its way to Florida, to my house."

"Why?"

"Well…the thing is Stephanie McMahon…I don't want to be away from you anymore. I don't want to live without you anymore, so you know what, I'm taking charge of my life. I want you to come back home."

"Really?" the words starting to sink in.

"Really, really."

"Okay…"

"So…can I come home now?" he asked.

She hugged him tightly, desperately holding onto him. When she pulled away, his lips seized her and she whispered against his lips, "Yes, come home…"

In the end, it turned out that they really didn't have to give up so much to be with each other. So what they wouldn't give? Well, it turned out…they gave everything.

And got so much in return.

THE END


End file.
